the girl must live eight clear days within the
boundaries of the parish in which the camp is
situated. It is to this straggling line of cottages
she comes, and rents a room, or takes a share of
one with three or even four others, whether
married or single. The soldier whom she
followed hither runs over to see her when he can.
She will do plain work or knitting, or labour
afield in the proper season. The couple wait for
some day when there is no parade or route march,
hurry to the parish church, get married, and then
often part for several days. A soldier's time is not
his own, and if he marries without leave he cannot
hope for "liberty" or indulgence. The wife,
hardly a wife, waits hopefully for chance or fortune
to place her on "the strength." That is the
summit of her ambition. If her husband be well
conducted, sober, and diligent, she may not
have to wait long; but if he is familiar with the
provost-marshal, miserable is her lot indeed. It
is wonderful how some of these poor trusting
girls live on in hope. A stranger would think
that even death would be a release from the
utter wretchedness of a few whose husbands
are unkind; and yet it is a singular fact that,
in five years, not a single soldier's wife
committed suicide.

So long as these women have their health,
their lot is tolerable. If the day be fine, they
sit and work on the sweet Curragh sward,
sheltered by the blossoming furze. They can
see the long brown line of the camp upon the
hill, and point out the very hut where the
husband is on duty, or preparing for duty. They
hear the roll of the drums and the bugle sound
for parade or muster. "He is there—almost
within reach —time will pass, and he will soon
be here." She will see him to-day, perhaps, at
''marching out," when the bands of all the
regiments in camp are heard, now loud, now
low, among the hills. The leaves have fallen
from the hedgerows, festooned only with the
vine-like sprays of the bramble, and decked with
bright-red rose-hips. The long rampart of men
in red or blue or rifle-green winds near her
lodging, and her eye falls upon the place in
the company where he must be. A smile and
nod are all that pass between the wife and
husband; but she is happy for the day. Still,
many a time the flashing column marches past
to the grand music of the bands, leaving behind
within these stifling cottages the patient English
or Irish girl whom sickness has struck down
and prisoned there. In a former paper* it was
stated that soldiers' wives are divided into two
classes, widely distinct. There are wives
married with leave, and those, no less wives, who
have ventured to marry without leave. The
former are entitled to many great advantages,
not the least of which is their acknowledged
position as part of the regiment, and their
recognition by the wives of the officers. "Liberty"
to marry is now made a prize for good conduct
and honourable service, and in numerous respects
the state of soldiers' wives, "married with
leave," is greatly improved. The recent
additions to the soldiers' pay, the abolition of many
stoppages, the increased quantity and superior
quality of the "rations," have all tended to
render the life of a soldier's wife more
comfortable. Amongst other benefits to which
they are entitled is that of admission into
the Female Hospital, where such an
institution exists. Should there be no Female
Hospital regularly constituted, an available
room in barrack is set apart for those sick
women or sick children the severity of whose
cases requires their removal from quarters.
But, whether in hospital or quarters, the
recognised wives receive medical attendance
and medicine. With these, they also procure
what in the regulation-book appear as "medical
comforts"—a phrase which means port wine,
brandy, arrowroot, and essence of beef. No
provision or allowance is made for nursing and
attendance, but these are never wanting. Pass
through the Female Hospital or invalid-room,
and you will learn that human nature is not so
selfish as some represent it to be. There are
always willing hands and cheerful hearts ready
to lighten the cares and cheer the gloom of the
sick in hospital. Clanship, if the principle
which actuates the wives in camp can be called
by that name, is a part of our constitution,
as love and anger are. The moment we
belong to any special body, we defend it,
and all within its pale are linked to us as
friends and comrades. She who smoothes
down the pillow of a comrade's wife to-day
may need one to smoothe her own
tomorrow. A regiment is not only a parish, but a
little world in itself, and all dwelling under the
same flag claim kindred. The list of articles
included under "medical comforts" is a brief
one; but whatever an invalid needs or wishes
for—whatever she neither needs nor wishes, but
which fellow-feeling thinks she would— is found
somehow. Beside the medicine phial and the
"comforts" will be found the plate with two or
three ripe apples, an orange, a small bunch of
grapes, or a few sweet-smelling flowers. Woman
is self-sacrificing ever, and a soldier's wife in
health will deny herself every selfish pleasure
to ensure that of the sick daughter of the
regiment who is "down" in hospital.
* See vol. xviii., page 246.

But wives "married without leave," and
therefore without recognised position, cannot be
admitted to hospital or the sick-room in
barracks. They must bear their suffering as they
can, in some thatched hut beside the Curragh
edge, with its earthen floor, its smoky
atmosphere, and broken windows. Yet when one of
these pariah-wives seeks for medical advice,
what regimental physician thinks of asking her
whether she had married with or without leave?
It is enough that she is ill and requires some
help. Advice and medicine she obtains at once,
whatever be her status; but "medical comforts"
and the hospital are denied her. But she is
also one of a clan, and is cared for, not with
similar quietude or order, but more officiously.
Port wine, arrowroot, small fruits, and even